When It's Over, Look For Me
by chibiMuffin999
Summary: It's been about a week since Sarah Rogers' funeral, and Steve swore up and down he was fine, thanks just the same. Bucky hasn't seen him in a week or so and comes to check on him. Steve's got a funny definition of 'fine'.


**_A/N: I keep getting inspiration for little snapshots of their pre-war life at the oddest times of night... *Shrug* Enjoy :D_**

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"Aw, Christ on a stick, Rogers…" Bucky stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, for all the world a disapproving old auntie. "You said you'd be fine."

The place was admittedly in shambles, with dishes piled in the sink because Steve couldn't be bothered to wash them and dirty clothes piled in a corner for the same reasons. The curtains were drawn against the bright afternoon sun, and nothing had been dusted in ages, which left Steve red-eyed and sniffling in the moody darkness, his allergies trying their level best to do him in. Sarah's room was shut up tight, and clearly hadn't been opened since -it- had happened.  
Steve hadn't bathed in a few days and his hair was a grimy bird's nest at this point. Especially compared to Bucky and his neat clothes and freshly styled hair, Steve had to imagine he probably looked like a smelly old bum.

His eyes drifted to the bare cupboard he'd been contemplating a second ago, and he closed it as casually as he could manage. The others looked no better, but at least they were shut.

"I _am_ fine." Steve answered sullenly, because he certainly wasn't going to admit that he was drowning. He ran his fingers absently through greasy hair as he shuffled over to drop himself into a kitchen chair. As an afterthought, he pushed a half-finished sketch out of the way, so he wouldn't smudge the linework. It's not that he cared right now, so much, as he knew it was what Bucky would expect him to do, and he was trying to prove a point.

"Sure. Sure y'are." Bucky's mouth pressed into a thin line as he slowly took the place in, head panning from left to right until his eyes drifted back to Steve and stuck there. "Just fine. I can see that."

"I told you, I can take care of myself. Just let it alone, would'ya?" Steve huffed, uncomfortable under his best friend's unwavering scrutiny. He knew Bucky saw right through him. But it didn't matter. Steve could do this. He just needed… he didn't know what he needed, but fussing over wasn't it. "Whaddya want, anyway? Not just to poke at me, I bet."

"Nice to see you too, Steve." Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed with the bluster. "I wanted to see how y'were doing, since-" He stopped.

It'd been a little over a week since Sarah Rogers had passed, but it felt like ages already. Steve was clearly pretty lost without her, even if he'd probably die sooner than say so. Steve was tough and stubborn, but he was as human as the next guy. He'd just never quite gotten that idea through his thick, reckless little skull

"-since I saw ya last." Bucky finished lamely.

"Fine. I'm fine. Told ya I was."

"Steve... I'm your best friend, yeah?"

"Yeah. 'Course you are." Steve raised his head from where he'd been stubbornly glaring at the table, quirking an eyebrow.

"So you know I ain't gonna give you grief for no reason, right?"

"Look, Buck-"

"You got no food, ya look like shit, and this place is a mess." Bucky talked over him flatly. "Can we cut the crap and just talk about this, or you gonna dance around me for another couple'a weeks till somebody finds you on the floor again? Cause I don't wanna do that, Steve."

That seemed to slice through some of the tough front. Steve looked a little like he'd been slapped.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd refused to admit he was hurting. There had been one occasion when he'd tried to tough it out and Bucky had found him a few hours after he passed out from fever and lifted him bodily off of the floor and carried him to a doctor. He still burned with shame when he remembered it.

"I ain't sick. I appreciate what you're doin', Buck, I do. But I ain't sick and I can make it on my own. I ain't gonna drag you down with me."  
He hadn't meant to say that last bit, but it was out now. Nothing to be done about it.

"Steve." Bucky looked pained. "For god's sake, kid, only place you're draggin' me is the loony bin; being a stubborn little ass like this. I _want_ to help you. You're my best pal." Steve returned to glaring holes in the thick, coarse art paper in front of him. Bucky changed tacks. "Who'd I go talk to when I got the letter about my dad, huh? Who'd I come to, cryin' like a fuckin' five year old half the night?"

"You were fifteen, Bucky-"

"Does it fuckin' matter?!" Bucky caught himself and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Christ sake, Steve, you're _allowed_ to be hurtin'... it don't matter how old you are." He lowered his hand and stared hard at Steve until Steve couldn't take the eyeballing on the back of his head anymore and finally looked back. "It don't make you weak if you miss her, Steve…" Bucky told him as gently as he could. "Hell, I miss her too, and she wasn't even _my_ ma…"  
Steve looked away again, rubbing absently at his arm, just for something to do.  
Bucky sighed.  
"If you ain't gonna come stay with me, c'n I stay here for a while? You're right on the way to work, an' I ain't seen much of you the last week or so…"

"I don't need-"

"I didn't say anythin' about you needin' it, Rogers. I asked if I could stay."

Steve raised his eyes and they stared at one another for a few minutes, Bucky with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, daring Steve to challenge his story. Steve didn't.

"Alright… yeah. Be nice to have some company, an' if it's on the way for ya…" They both knew it wasn't really, but Steve gave in as gracefully as he could.  
Secretly, he was inexpressably grateful that Bucky was just as stubborn as he was, because god did he need somebody to lean on right now. Outwardly, he let himself smile, just a little. "I did kinda miss seein' your ugly mug around lately, anyhow."

"Nice to be wanted." Bucky grinned at him, letting the tension break as if it'd never been. "Now go wash your smelly hide, Rogers. You stink and I ain't roomin' with a bum. I'll wait."

The curtains were open, the room airing in the late summer sunshine, the dishes done and the washing gathered by the time Steve came back, clean and toweling his hair dry between his hands.  
He said nothing about the change, but when Bucky glanced at him from the sink, Steve smiled - the same broken, grateful smile he'd worn when Bucky first offered to take him in a week ago, and he knew his friend understood it for what it was.

"Get your shoes on, kid." Bucky said abruptly, tossing the damp dishrag aside as he wheeled around. "We're getting hamburgers. You got nothin' to eat around here and I'm starvin'."

"I don't have any money-" Steve started.

"My treat, since you're lettin' me stay with ya and all." Bucky talked right over him, in a tone that brooked no argument. He was _going_ to take care of his friend, one way or the other, now that Steve had finally given him an opening. "So shut yer yap and let's go before I starve to death."

"Alright, alright, keep your pants on ya big jerk." Steve was smiling wanly as he dragged a comb quickly through his hair and tugged his shoes on, so it was all alright.

Bucky pressed a little as they walked.  
"So while I'm already imposin', I actually got a favor to ask you." He started, choosing his words carefully. Steve's ears perked up predictably. Selfless little twit was always looking for a way to 'repay' Bucky for… jeeze, Bucky didn't know. For being his friend?  
"My mama's been gettin' on my case that I need to quit runnin' around and settle down." Bucky explained pragmatically, pulling bullshit out of the air as they walked. His mother adored him and while she was eagerly awaiting a crop of Barnes grandchildren, she indulged her son in just about anything he did. Steve knew this as well as Bucky did, but said nothing to contradict him. "And I found this great little dive over on the east side goin' cheap, so I thought.. hey maybe I could just go out there, get her outta my hair, y'know?" Bucky casually stretched back, linking his hands behind his head. "But it's a little stiff for just me by myself, see."  
That part was true. Bucky didn't make much, for all the hours he worked. He could probably cover the place alone in a pinch -he'd made sure of that, because Steve would inevitably get sick and not be able to work for much of the winter- but having the addition of whatever income Steve _could_ scrape together would make life easier.  
"So, I figured," Bucky continued casually, "maybe I can share the place with somebody. Split the rent and all that jazz." He glanced sidelong at Steve. "And can't think of anybody I'd rather split with than my best pal." Steve's eyebrow was firmly raised.  
"You wanna help a guy out and go halfsies with me? Be doin' me a big favor." Bucky went ahead and laid it on thick. Steve already knew he was full of it, how could he not? But this gave him a way to take the offer without having to admit he was struggling. It was the only way he'd ever agree, and Bucky knew it. "What'dya say, Steve?"

"Well, it'd be nice not to have to look at my place anymore…" Steve admitted slowly, keeping his eyes down. "Ma's sorta ingrained in the walls and it's…" He hesitated. "It's tough, s'all."

"I get ya." Bucky nodded, carefully neutral. If he made a big deal of this, Steve would shut down and shut him out again. Bucky played along. He was good at playing casual, especially with Steve. He had to be, to get through to the little shit. "Rent's probably steeper there too."

"Probably." Steve agreed, quietly.

"That a yes?" Bucky prompted him gently.

"Can I see the place first?" And that was as good as a yes, because Bucky had already seen it, and it was as good as could be expected for the money. Steve would agree to it after a cursory inspection, and that would settle that.

"Sure thing, we'll go tomorrow if you want. I got the day off."

"Yeah… ok."

They walked a while in silence after that, each of them mulling over their own thoughts. Steve broke the silence just as they were getting close to the diner.  
"Thank you, Buck." He said softly, studying his feet - one in front of the other.

"What for?" Bucky smirked at him as he pushed the door open and gestured Steve inside, deflecting with practiced ease. "S'just a burger."


End file.
